


The Full Wrath

by crisiskris



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Non-Canonical Character Death, Sad Ending, Spy Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 06:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14014158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crisiskris/pseuds/crisiskris
Summary: Voldemort wants to know what Severus Snape is thinking.





	The Full Wrath

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the Albus Dumbledore/Severus Snape Buggering Bee for the challenge: *“If at first you don’t succeed…”
> 
> Thanks to the lovely Gaaak for the Milton quote.

>   
>  “And that great Covenant which we still transgress  
>  Entirely satisfied,  
>  And the full wrath beside  
>  Of vengeful Justice bore for our excess”  
>  \- John Milton, Upon the Circumcision

+++

Tom Marvolo Riddle was angry. His alienesque face was tight and his red eyes were narrow as he looked around the room at the sorry bunch of loser s who claimed to follow him. They swore loyalty to him everyday. They promised him that they were faithful.They groveled at his feet in a splendid show of worship, fear and desire for approval that had once filled him with the feeling of invincibility.

But they were liars. They were pretenders. So few had his gift for envisioning the future; so few truly understood his cause. He looked around the room again. Malfoy – a petty aristocrat more concerned about the devaluation of his land than the bastardization of his blood. Crabbe. Goyle. Half a brain between the two of them – though they were good at breaking things, which was a skill that often came in handy in this line of work. Macnair, a vicious bully who lacked the ability to connect any of his actions to the greater cause. He just liked to hurt people. Pettigrew… Tom sneered. A self-serving cowardly little Gryffindor. Pathetic.

There were so few that truly believed. Lestrange and Lestrange of course. It was hard to tell whether the wife or the husband was more fanatical – but Tom had always felt that their dedication to the cause was something borne not of comprehension, but of madness.

And then there was Snape. Severus Snape. He had been the youngest recruit to ever successfully join the Death Eaters – the only one of his group who had not perished during his initiation. Even then, barely more than a boy, Snape had been powerful, and as skilled a Potions master as any man twice his age. And he had been loyal – loyal to Tom, like an animal is loyal to its owner, but loyal also to the cause. He had fervently believed that muggles were a scourge to wizard kind, but he did so with sanity and thoughtfulness, and none of the psychotic tendencies of the Lestranges. He was cool and removed, quick-witted and an excellent strategist.

And he might be a traitor. Tom’s eyes narrowed further, his fists clenching around a thin piece of parchment. Written on the parchment was the transcript of a conversation that had taken place between two very drunk aurors, recorded with a Quick Quill by a lower-level minion with ambitions for the Dark Lord’s inner circle. The quill had been examined – it was working properly, and was perfectly accurate. The Death Eater had been examined as well, and she was telling the truth. That left only two possibilities: the aurors that had been overheard were lying, or they were not.

Tom knew there was a traitor. He was quite sure who it wasn’t. Malfoy, because he had too much invested in the outcome, both financially and in terms of his social status. Macnair was too cruel to be accepted by the light. The Lestranges were too crazy, and Pettigrew was too much of a coward.

Tom scowled deeply, turning to his followers. “Snape, step forward,” he commanded. Smoothly, the dark man complied, his face betraying no emotion. That was something Tom had always liked about him – the way that he could act like he was expecting everything that happened, even things there could be no way to predict. Secretly, Tom had always dreamed of being the one to crack that mask… he fantasized about the young man writhing beneath him, screaming out his pleasure or panting and begging, eyes wide and skin flushed. Or laughing, smiling at him in loving adoration. Of course, he had never quite found the way to get what he wanted before, and now it was too late – this wretched new body would never respond like that.

“My lord?” A quiet, inquisitive voice broke through his thoughts, and he looked up again to meet the black eyes of Snape, who stood there waiting with polite neutrality. Wordlessly, he handed Snape the paper, and watched as the other man read it, his face never changing. After a moment Snape refolded it and handed it back. “Lies, my lord, I assure you.”

Tom watched him carefully. Snape’s breathing was calm; his eyes betrayed no fear. “You don’t seem concerned,” he observed.

Snape shrugged delicately. “I have nothing to hide, Master. You know I am loyal.”

Tom took that as an invitation. “Legilimens!” he hissed. A brief flash of something white and flowing bubbled up as he peered into Snape’s mind, searching. He waded through scene after mundane scene of the Potions master’s life at Hogwarts, replaying stiff conversations with that doddering old fool Dumbledore. He smiled despite himself at the casual cruelty toward the Potter brat. Nothing else. There was nothing else there. Something lifted inside him. “You may step back,” he murmured, relieved. The thought that his best and brightest follower might be false had unsettled him, and he was glad it was not so.

Snape nodded, sliding back into the shadows, and the Dark Lord turned away. “Nott – step forward.”

+++

Even the best and brightest fail, however. Only a few months later, Tom found himself staring at the masked visages of his followers, seething with anger once again. “Snape,” he snapped. “Step forward.”

This time when the younger man came closer, he had the grace to appear somewhat nervous. Snape took a deep breath. “My lord,” he said, coming to a stop in front of the dark lord. He said nothing else, but his eyes showed understanding. Tom was inwardly pleased. This one knew when he was wrong – he knew when to accept punishment. It was a good trait for a soldier of war to have.

“Snape. What were my orders regarding Potter?” Tom hissed softly.

“I was to subdue the boy and bring him to you on Halloween night,” Snape replied softly.

Tom nodded. “And what day is it today?”

“November first.”

“I assume you have an explanation?”

“Of course, My Lord.”

“Good. Legilimens!” Tom cast the spell as quickly and forcefully as he could, not wanting to give the Potions master time to construct a feasible, but somewhat false, story in his mind. He had the satisfaction of seeing Snape’s eyes widen slightly before he was drawn into the memories.

The first thing he saw was a face – Dumbledore’s face, with those twinkling blue eyes. The old bastard was saying something, but Tom hadn’t gotten deep enough yet to hear it, and the face suddenly vanished before he could direct his attention toward it. Tom moved on, searching out the incident in question.

_Show me Halloween_ , he thought, feeling himself slide through the memories. There. He watched as Snape poisoned the boy’s pumpkin juice; saw how smoothly the dark man took control of the position. Tom even found himself nodding with approval at the way that Snape moved through the castle, the boy firmly ensconced in his arms, cutting off any questions from passersby with authority and quiet power. Indeed, he was almost at the door when…

Dumbledore. He should have known. There was the old fool, standing in the doorway, asking Snape where he was going. Snape was good – he came up with a plausible excuse, something about the boy being the victim of a prank and requiring fresh air – but there was no way he could have left with Potter, as Dumbledore followed him out and stayed near him until they all went back in. He had been foiled by the old meddler again.

Tom was about to pull out of the memories when he caught a flash of something unbidden – something irrelevant to the scene that had come up because he’d asked to see Halloween. Dimly, he was aware of a flickering of panic across Snape’s normally impassive face. Curious, he dug deeper.

He could tell that Snape was fighting him, blocking the images, but he was already so insinuated that the Potions master couldn’t stop him entirely. Tom dove down into the shadow.

It was a room, a dark room, filled with moaning and panting. The memory-smell of sweat assailed Tom’s nostrils, mixed with lust thick enough to taste. He looked down and saw Snape laid out on the bed, his arms tied above his head, his legs spread wide. He was moaning and gasping. A figure knelt at the edge of the bed, head bobbing between those creamy thighs. Tom got a glimpse of Snape’s cock, red and thick, sliding in and out of someone’s mouth. He couldn’t tell who the someone was, though. For a moment he thought he saw a face, but then the image obscured as Snape pushed him steadily out of the memory.

Tom allowed himself to be pushed up, and pulled out of the other man’s head. He studied Snape, standing before him, and was surprised – and pleased – to see a bit of a flush on the pale cheeks. For the first time, Tom felt something stirring in his cock – the beginnings of life, barely more than a tingle, but so much more than he’d felt since acquiring this body. He smiled slightly and met Snape’s eyes.

He was surprised to see emotion reflected there - a fierceness that he had rarely seen in the other man. As if he’d been punched in the stomach, Tom suddenly realized what it was – protectiveness. Snape was preparing to defend the identity of his lover. The man between Snape’s legs in the memory was someone Snape cared about. Tom felt hot white rage pour through his veins. He tried to pretend that it was because Snape hadn’t fulfilled his mission, but he knew what it really was. Jealousy. His eyes narrowed. “Crucio,” he sneered casually, nastily, and then watched with faint disappointment as the man fell to his knees, taking his punishment in silence. More than anything, Tom just wanted to make the man scream…

It seemed like hours before he came back to himself, the fury dying down. The Potions master lay in a useless heap before him, barely breathing, no longer conscious. Malfoy was tentatively standing before him, saying, “My Lord, please, unless you intend to kill him, you must stop,” and cringing in fear. Tom took a deep breath. His hands were shaking.

“Get him out of my sight,” he spat, turning on his heel. He walked away with images of white skin and red, slick cocks playing and replaying in his mind.

+++

The images consumed him. He tried not to think about it; a good leader didn’t get involved in the personal lives of his men, and a great leader did not get involved _with_ his men. He had no right to know - no right to invade the privacy of one so loyal. Snape had proved his faithfulness time and time again, throwing his wits against that fool Dumbledore in all earnestness, searching tirelessly for a way to break through the school’s defenses. He continued to spy despite the fact that Dumbledore was on to him, and for that he was to be much admired, not disrespected so… basely. But the images consumed him.

He found his attention wandering at Dark Revels, his red eyes sliding back to Snape, traveling up and down the man’s body. What a body he had seen – it was a shame that Snape kept it so well hidden underneath those robes. Tom knew that Snape was aware of his attention, but the Potions master hid his discomfort well, his face always a mask of careful indifference, betraying nothing. Tom hated him for it. He loved him for it. He tore himself apart trying to decide how he felt. It was so confusing. The only thing that was clear was that Tom Marvolo Riddle had a new body that didn’t work the way it should, and that he hadn’t been able to come since he’d returned to human form – except that when he thought about Snape and the brief flashes he’d seen, he could get close - closer than anything else had made him…

Finally it was too much for him. He had to have more. He needed to know more. Who did Snape love? What did they do? He needed a reason to search the dark man’s mind once more. So he told Snape a lie. He had Wormtail relay a message to Snape informing him of a fictional attack on a muggle village. The plan was that Snape would show up for the attack, and at the same time, Tom would call a Dark Revel. Then he could demand to know why Snape had not been at the Revel. He would cast the Legilimens spell, see the message that Wormtail relayed, and find his opportunity to dig a little deeper. Of course, Wormtail would have to be punished for playing tricks on his old childhood nemesis, but that was a minor detail, hardly worth noting in Tom’s mind. Wormtail was too stupid to figure out that he’d been used – and too smart to say anything if he did realize it.

It was a good plan.

+++

He set it up for a cold night in October, almost a year since his obsession started, and Friday the thirteenth, as luck would have it. At ten o’clock, just as the raid was about to start, his Death Eaters began apparating in, one after another, until they all stood before him except Snape. “Where is our Potions master, I wonder?” he murmured, looking at his gathered followers.

“My Lord, I have news,” Malfoy began by way of reply, but just then there was a faint pop and Severus Snape appeared, only slightly disheveled, falling gracefully to his knees.

“Forgive me, My Lord,” he said softly, kissing the hem of Tom’s cloak. Tom smiled.

“Perhaps, Severus,” he replied. “Stand up.”

“My Lord, it is of the utmost importance…” Malfoy again. Tom ignored him.

“Where have you been, Severus?” He asked instead.

“Following your orders, sir – I apparated to the village, but there was no one there…”

Tom’s smile widened; the game was afoot. And what a good game it would be. “I gave no orders to go to any village,” he replied innocently.

“My Lord, forgive me, Pettigrew relayed them to me…” From the corner of his eye, Tom saw Wormtail shifting from foot to foot. That would simply be a bonus, he thought. He really couldn’t stand the way the fat little man simpered. He turned his attention back to Snape and was just about to speak when Malfoy cut in.

“Perhaps, My Lord, you should ask him to whom he was speaking tonight, instead of where he has been,” Lucius said impatiently. Tom turned to him, eyes narrowing dangerously.

“What do you mean, Lucius?” he hissed. Usually Malfoy knew better than to interfere with any of his games. To his surprise, however, Lucius wasn’t cowering at all – he was wearing an expression of superiority and disgust.

“I mean, My Lord, that there was an emergency Auror raid called for tonight – for a small village just outside of Hogsmeade. I overheard an Auror reporting to the Minister of Magic as I left work this afternoon. Apparently, they’d received word from one of their operatives that there would be a Death Eater attack there this evening, around ten o’clock.” Lucius subsided with a satisfied air as pandemonium broke loose, Death Eaters shouting their surprise and accusations.

Wormtail fell to the ground, shaking. “My Lord, I swear it!” He cried, worming his way toward the dark lord, cringing. “It was not me!” He reached for Tom’s cloak, tears plopping out of his eyes, but Tom just kicked him away.

“Of course not, you’re too stupid for it,” he hissed, stepping up to Snape. The other man had gone incredibly pale. “Legilimens!” Tom threw all of his magic into the spell, tearing into the other man’s mind.

He felt Snape scrabble for control, his body actually swaying with the effort. The Potions master – the spy - was too slow, and Tom was able to catch snatches of conversations as he ripped through the memories:

“He’s planning an attack, on the muggle village. The thirteenth of October, he must think himself dreadfully clever,” Snape, walking quickly down the hallway, his voice hushed, black eyes focused on the wizened countenance of Albus Dumbledore.

Tom dug further. He found Snape standing at the entrance to the Great Hall, his Death Eater mask in hand. Ah. This must be earlier tonight, then, he thought. Severus is off to pretend to do my work while undoing it. He watched as Dumbledore approached the dark man in the memory. “Be careful,” the old wizard said. Snape nodded gravely. Then Dumbledore did something that made Tom gasp in shock. He leaned over to the younger man and pulled him close, kissing him possessively. Snape kissed him back. They clung to each other, kissing and touching, their bodies grinding against one another, until Snape pulled back with a moan, and ran down the steps into the fog.

Tom pulled out of the memory. “It was Dumbledore,” he seethed, meeting the traitor’s eyes. Snape looked at him with his chin raised defiantly. The Potion master’s moan echoed in Tom’s head, evidence that once again his greatest enemy had proved capable of doing that which he could not – moving Severus Snape, touching him… loving him. Tom’s face screwed up in rage. “Crucio!” he screamed, the curse felling Snape before him. “Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!” All he could see in his mind was Dumbledore, reaching for Snape, Dumbledore on his knees, milking Snape’s cock, Dumbledore, with his sparkling blue eyes and his flowing white beard, Snape writhing under his touch. God damn him. God damn them both to hell. God damn them all.

At last he lowered his wand, panting from the effort. His Death Eaters stood unmoving around him, their faces pale. Wormtail was still crying silently; he’d yet to get up off the ground. Snape lay in a tangled mess of limbs and bloody robes before him. “Is he dead?” he asked, his voice rough and harsh. A rustle of robes, and Lucius knelt beside the body.

“Yes, my Lord,” he whispered, swallowing hard. “The traitor is dead.”

“Good.” Tom drew himself up to his full height and turned on his heel, not even bothering to dismiss his Death Eaters. They would take care of themselves – and the corpse – without his orders. His mind felt strangely empty. There had been a time, once, when casting a spell with such power as he’d just done would have filled him with energy and adrenaline, and his thoughts would be racing, his cock impossibly hard. Now he lay limp and useless, unable to think. Unable even to stay angry.

Dumbledore had robbed him of everything, and he vowed to return the favour in kind. Grinding his wand against his palm, he silently laid out his wizard’s oath: he would not stop until Dumbledore was dead, and Hogwarts lay in ruins before his feet. His face hard with fury, Tom Riddle apparated into the dark.

+++

Back at the castle, Dumbledore sat in his room, his eyes staring out, unseeing, as he focused his mind. “Legilimens,” he whispered, concentrating. He and Severus had long ago worked out a way to keep in touch while Severus was away on missions, using the mind-reading spell over long distances to keep in contact. For some reason, though, tonight it wasn’t working. They’d been in contact until about an hour ago, when Albus had felt a sudden ripple in Snape’s consciousness. Then the connection had been severed, and he hadn’t been able to re-establish it.

He groaned, shifting position, moving his tired legs around a bit to keep up his circulation. Severus had been hungry for him last night; they’d been a bit rougher than usual, and Albus’s poor old body was paying for it now. He settled down again and breathed deeply. “Legilimens.” Nothing. A small stab of panic seeded itself in his heart, but Albus refused to give in to it. “Legilimens. Legilimens. Legilimens.” Dawn broke, small tendrils of light fighting their way through the overcast sky, but Albus kept concentrating.

He was just going to keep trying until he got through. The alternative was unfathomable. “Legilimens,” he whispered, tears cracking his voice, rolling down his cheeks. “Severus, no.” Blackness greeted him. Nothingness. There was nothing there. “No.” Dumbledore sat for a long time, silent and unmoving, as the reality of the situation sunk in. Severus was dead. He was dead. He was gone.

Tom Riddle had done this. Riddle had robbed him of everything, and he vowed to return the favour in kind. Grinding his wand against his palm, he silently laid out his wizard’s oath: he would not stop until Riddle was dead, and his Death Eaters anguished in chains in the darkest depths of Azkaban. His face hard with fury, Albus Dumbledore rose to greet the day. 


End file.
